


wherever you stray, I follow

by androgenius, sombregods



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Felix Hugo Fraldarius, First Time, Goddess Tower (Fire Emblem), M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgenius/pseuds/androgenius, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sombregods/pseuds/sombregods
Summary: Dimilix Week Day 3 - Goddess Tower/DanceFelix finds Dimitri at precisely the right time.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 5
Kudos: 70
Collections: 2021 Dimilix Week





	wherever you stray, I follow

Felix doesn't dance. He lacks Dorothea's grace and Mercedes' poise; he can’t muster any enthusiasm at the thought of selecting a partner. His own strength is in the sword, and though he supposes the motions are not so different—footwork and parries, abstract passes—there is something about working _with_ a potential partner, rather than _against_ , that tastes like bitter ash in his mouth. 

Nor is he particularly enthused about watching the boar dance with partner after partner, perfect in every particular. 

So he has fled.

He stands outside the Reception Hall, half-listening to the strains of violin music, wishing that he could cut his losses and return to training. He lingers on the steps of the gardens and tilts his head back slightly to look at the sky. The air is soft and cool. 

"Felix," Dimitri's voice cuts through the darkness to greet him, unexpected. "I didn't think I'd find you here."

Felix closes his eyes. Doesn't turn. "I didn't think I'd find _you_ out here, boar. Got tired of dancing already? Aren't you having fun?" 

He is aware that his voice is acrid, tired, and doesn't care. He has no desire to spend more time with Dimitri than he must. It is one thing to spar with him: despite Dimitri's boarishness, or perhaps because of it, he is an able training partner, and the long reach of his lance challenges Felix to find new stances and new thrusts. Outside of the training grounds, however, they find little common ground and needn't spend time together. It's a shame that their rooms are so close together—at night, Felix hears the sounds of Dimitri's restlessness, his sleepless twisting and turning, the sound of his steps as he paces. 

He doesn't want to _look_ at Dimitri—to see the perfect composure and impeccable posture of the boy who once was his best friend, and is now a marble mask hiding a monster.

"Of course not," Dimitri finally answers after a long pause, gaze dropping to the ground. "But you already know that."

He doesn't know that. He has imagined Dimitri dancing with that smile upon his lips, the steady, princely look in his eyes he gets when he is in the company of others. It doesn't surprise him that Dimitri knows how to dance. A future king ought to be perfect, and Dimitri certainly is—to all who don't know how to look at him. To see truly. 

Felix knows how to see what's in front of him. It is the only thing that still makes sense. 

He snorts, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You'd think you'd at least pretend to put up a good front for our class. But here you are—fleeing the ballroom. Like a coward. Didn't the Professor ask you to dance?"

"Is that why you're out here, then? Cowardice?" A beat passes, Dimitri allowing the moment to linger before adding, "There is truly no need to bring the professor into all of this."

Felix sneers. "So they did. I hope you didn't faint in their arms out of sheer admiration. It's embarrassing, your—" He pauses, looking up at the stars. Then his voice comes out soft. "Unlike you, boar, I have no desire to perform normalcy for others. I don't _need_ to. I am no monster."

He becomes aware that he is on the verge of embarrassing emotion. The last time he was so bothered by Dimitri's presence... he turns away. 

"If I didn't know better, Felix, I'd think you were jealous."

A hard shiver goes up Felix's spine at Dimitri's voice. Jealous. Is he—? No. He can't be. He never has been.

But he allows his eyes to rake up Dimitri's tall form. In the semi-light, Dimitri looks... tired. 

Felix scoffs. "Jealous of whom? _You_? Or—" His eyes narrow, and his voice gains a new edge. "Of the Professor? Don't flatter yourself." He stops himself on the edge of adding, _you don't have to_.

"Of—" Dimitri stops. "Ah… I suppose it doesn't matter, then. It's not as though you would be honest with me even if it was true." 

His smile is sad when he turns to look at Felix. "To be frank, I'm surprised you're even still here. It must be dreadful, having to tolerate even the temporary company of a monster like me." 

Felix swallows, his throat suddenly very dry. There's something off about this conversation. It comes too close to vulnerability for his own liking. 

So he says, with the kind of abrupt manner he has spent a long time perfecting: "You're right. I don't know why I even bother."

Turning his back on Dimitri, he stalks off across the grass—away from the soft strains of violin music, away from the dancing and the merriment, and away from the boy whose eyes he can't bring himself to meet. 

&

Felix pauses on the last step. He... doesn't know what he expected. He came to the Goddess Tower for quiet and solitude; none of that silly legend for lovers' wishes, but... seeing Dimitri standing on the edge of the balustrade, the lines of his body limned in moonlight, brings the stories back to the forefront of his thoughts. There is something tired about the way Dimitri is holding himself up, and none of it makes any sense to Felix, who is so used to despising Dimitri's easy courtesy and gallantry. Like this, he doesn't look quite so much like a fairy tale prince. He looks young. 

He only says: "Are you following me around, boar?"

Dimitri jumps at the sound of Felix's voice, blinking wide-eyed as he turns to stare at him.

"Felix," he starts slowly, sounding almost confused, "you found me here. Not, ah— the other way around."

Felix scowls. Dimitri isn't wrong, but... there is something unlikely about their meeting here. Why _is_ Dimitri all alone up here, instead of down on the grounds, socializing like the rest of their peers? _Socializing_. It isn't what he would call the kind of dalliance he's had the misfortune to witness while stomping through the gardens. Somehow he thought the Goddess Tower, by virtue of its height and isolation, would be the safest place to rest with his confused, swirling thoughts. 

Apparently he was wrong. The very source of his troubles decided to come here too. 

He considers going back down, but there are only so many places in Garreg Mach where he can have some peace and quiet tonight. He steps over to the balustrade, leans his arms against it. "Didn't follow Sylvain's example, did you?" 

"Sylvain's example?" Dimitri's cheeks appear to color. "I… I'm not certain I know what you mean, Felix."

The truth is, he doesn't particularly want to think about Sylvain, or Sylvain's amorous adventures, ever. Much less with Dimitri in the room—Dimitri, who is blushing. Why in the Saints' names is he _blushing_ for? Is he a boy, unable even to _think_ about—

Felix's own cheeks are growing hot. He clears his throat, crosses his arms, and says, "I mean you didn't... take some poor girl's hand and lead her into a dark garden lane. As expected of the—" he sneers— "saintly crown prince." 

A dreadful suspicion strikes him. Is _that_ why Dimitri is up there, seemingly alone, as though waiting for— 

"Unless you did," he says slowly. 

Once more, Dimitri's eyes go wide as he stares. 

"Don't be absurd, Felix," he mutters, cheeks visibly aflame even in the dim light of the encroaching darkness. "I simply wished for some… fresh air. I'd forgotten about the legend. Is... is that why you're here?"

"The... legend." Something in Felix's chest squeezes.

He turns away resolutely, ignoring Dimitri and his... his absurd—princeliness. Maybe if he looks away long enough, Dimitri will take the hint and leave him alone. He stares down at the gardens and the buildings of Garreg Mach, dark shapes in the night. His fingers are tight on the sleeves of his uniform. 

His throat is dry. "It's not why I'm here," he says, and then curses himself for speaking at all. "I don't believe in that rubbish." And then, still not looking at Dimitri, for fear of what he will see there—disdain, or pity—"do _you_?"

"I—" Dimitri hesitates, his gaze falling to his feet. "I… want to. But… admittedly, I struggle believing in anything supernatural, aside from the goddess watching over us. Still. The thought is nice."

Felix snorts. "I can't imagine anything less _nice_ than being so stupid you wish to the goddess to be shackled to an imaginary soulmate for the rest of your life. Sounds like a recipe for disaster. What if the person—changes—or becomes... " He swallows. "Different. Worse. Worse than you thought they could ever be."

Shoulders hunched, he stares hard at the glinting lights of the Reception Hall, where the festivities are continuing. Up here, he and Dimitri are so far away from the others they might as well be in a different world, cut off from the expectations put upon them both. 

"Is that how you thought of me, before?" he says, his voice quiet. "As your… soulmate?"

Felix is silent. How can he answer, except in a way that is either maudlin or stupidly self-pitying? The truth of the matter is that he did think Dimitri would be his... friend, his partner, his consort, for the rest of their lives, even if Dimitri had to go be King and marry someone _else_ someday. Those were the wishes of a twelve-year-old boy who adored his best friend: to be with Dimitri always. 

But then Glenn died. 

And Dimitri, the dearest friend he had, pulled away until he was so distant he might as well not be there at all—until Felix, bewildered and heartbroken, understood why: Dimitri was gone, too. Dimitri was dead. In his stead was a monster wearing a prince's face. 

"It doesn't matter," he says, finally. "What I thought. I was a kid. I—" _adored you_. "Cared about you. I was wrong to."

"Wrong to—" Dimitri turns to stare at him, gaze hard. _Hurt_. "That's cruel, Felix. Even for you and your generally sharp tongue. If you were hoping to hurt me— then I commend you. You've managed to do so with remarkable skill." 

He sighs before speaking again. "If this was your way of telling me to leave, you could have said so." 

Felix turns his head to look at him, just as Dimitri glances away. His expression looks like genuine pain, and for a moment Felix experiences that pain, as in an echo, in his own chest. He swallows, uncertain what to say next. Part of him screams to let him go; screams that this is what he wanted all along. If all it takes to be alone tonight is to hurt Dimitri along the way... 

Well. He does that every day, doesn't he? 

It would take a single word, a sharp, cutting phrase. _Leave, then. Leave me alone. Go be a monster somewhere else. With someone else._

Somehow, he can't bring himself to say it. 

"I didn't." He feels hot, unsure, stepping on ice. "I didn't... mean that."

It's not what Dimitri expected, his surprise showing on his face as he turns to look at him. "Then," he starts slowly, as if treading carefully with his words "what did you mean?"

The question doesn't linger in the air for long before Dimitri retracts it. "Never mind. It's a… silly question." Turning his attention back to the view, he gestures for Felix to join him. "You never did say why you came here, if not for the legend."

Grudgingly, Felix turns his eyes back to the great sky overhead. The view from the Goddess Tower is spectacular; Garreg Mach and its surroundings lie out before them in their light-studded splendor. The moonlight is bright here. Dimitri's face is washed in it, his features almost sad. Felix refuses to wonder why Dimitri looks so sad. 

"I wanted some peace and quiet," he says, and winces inwardly at how he sounds: harsh, cutting. He is no longer the boy who hung on to Dimitri's every word, and to his sleeves. Who ran after him with a toy sword. Who burst into tears when Dimitri had to leave. 

He doesn't even remember being that boy. 

The moonlight is so bright. It feels like a different night—like two worlds are colliding, and from this side, he can glimpse at a universe where Dimitri never went away. It's fanciful, imaginary thinking, and he loathes himself for indulging it, but... 

"I did think you were my soulmate. Before... before."

"Before I became a monster," Dimitri agrees quietly. The silence between them doesn't linger for long before he blurts out, "What can I do? If there's anything, Felix…"

Felix's breathing hitches. He feels as though he stands on the edge of a very sheer drop. He would do anything to not have this conversation now. To avoid Dimitri's mournful voice, his eyes filled with sadness. _Before I became a monster_. Is Dimitri aware of it himself? Or is he merely parroting Felix's own words back to him? 

He feels the sharp sting of tears against his eyes. He closes them. They’re shameful. He hasn't cried in years. Not since Glenn—not since Glenn died. Not even after Dimitri proved himself to be a beast. Not in all the years he has disappointed his father. 

His voice rasps out of his throat. "You could give me my best friend back."

Dimitri is quiet for a long time.

"What's he like?" he finally asks. "Not at all… beastly, I imagine." 

It has been years since he has thought of the boy Dimitri used to be—the sweet, charming, gallant boy whom he loved so well, without doubt or hesitation. He hesitates. The conversation is teetering on the verge of something too big and too deep for him to understand, but he is aware that, should he say the wrong thing, Dimitri will pull away, this time for good. And Felix will lose the beast the way he lost the boy. 

"He's—kind," he says, forcing himself not to stammer. "Good. He cares for his people. His friends. His subjects. He doesn’t look at enemies and feel nothing but a desire to destroy," he adds, more harshly, for Remire is still present in his mind. 

_I am the one who's supposed to kill for you. Keep your hands clean._

Dimitri sighs, hanging his head. "I don't… feel that way. When we are out on the battlefield, have you ever known me to act cruelly? To take lives recklessly? If anything, I hope to… protect the innocent and rule justly. I haven't—" He shakes his head. "I know how you think of me. But I… I don't know how to dispel that view you seem to have of me as I am. Is it—" His breath hitches, Dimitri turning to regard Felix, solemn. "Am I truly so repulsive to you, Felix?"

_Repulsive._

Felix turns also, sweeping a long look at Dimitri, from his disheveled hair—the result of all that dancing, no doubt—down to his elegant ceremonial uniform. He has known, in a distant sort of way, that Dimitri has grown into a magnificent young man, athletic and strong, magnetic to those who don't know the truth of him, which is everyone. Everyone flocks to him like sheep. No one sees what Felix sees, which is...

He falters. _Which is... ?_ If he closes his eyes, he sees Dimitri splashed all over with blood, all those years ago. He sees the smile on his face. He sees the glee in his eyes. 

And yet—excepting the disaster that was Remire—Dimitri speaks the truth: he does not kill cruelly. Felix has watched him too closely over the past few months to doubt it. He kills as he is instructed, kills to defend, kills to protect. In a sense, Felix knows, he feels every death more than Felix himself ever has or ever will. 

He hesitates. How can he phrase the truth of what he feels at night, alone in his bed, with nothing between Dimitri's and his rooms but a bare wall? 

The word escapes his lips almost before he can catch it. 

"Dimitri— _boar_. I—I don't—"

Too late. Dimitri's name on Felix's tongue snaps his head up. "I—" He stops. "However much you hate me," he whispers, swallowing thickly, "I can assure you that I hate myself far more."

Felix laughs, bitter and sharp. "Right. Am I supposed to believe that?"

Nothing about Dimitri suggests self-loathing. He's so charming, so sweet, so obedient. That fake smile plastered on his lips, rarely ever softening into genuine affection, except with—Felix sneers—Dedue. Dimitri looks like the perfect prince. Isn’t that why Felix hates him? Hates the smooth jade perfection of that mask, when he knows perfectly well what hides underneath it? 

He drums his fingers on the balustrade, aware of Dimitri's tall body, the warmth of him. Dimitri always ran hot, like a furnace. When they were kids—when they slept in the same bed, brought together by Felix's nightmares and subsequent tears—they would curl up together like puppies. 

He says, soft: "Do you have any idea how much I wanted you to come back to me?"

"I never left." Dimitri responds just as softly, his hand reaching out to hover over Felix's arm, untouching. It only lasts for a breath of a moment before he pulls back again, drawing into himself. "You were the one who… mm." A beat. "I was so certain you saw me for who I was. Could see the things I want, the things I care for. The things I hate. But… apparently I was wrong." He lets out a dry chuckle, one Felix feels in his gut. "Never mind. I suddenly feel dreadfully tired. Alas, a boar prince's duties never end. Isn't that right, Felix?" 

The smile he turns upon him is wry, sad.

"I _do_ see you. I've always seen you."

The thought that he might have _missed_ something, that something about Dimitri's existence has passed him by... that does not sit well with him at all. Felix has always relished being the only one who could see through Dimitri's pretenses and disguises. As a boy, _he_ was Dimitri's favorite. As a man, or as near to one as he can get, _he_ is the only one who knows Dimitri true. 

Does Dimitri truly hate himself? There is a sharp, sad bitterness in his words, but it is not directed at Felix. It is turned _inward_. 

He takes refuge in impatience. Cutting remarks, after all, are what he's best at. "So what, you're leaving? You're giving up—just like that. And here I thought you were brave."

"Brave," Dimitri says slowly. "You must have me confused for someone else. A certain boar prince. What would you have me do?" he asks, turning to look at Felix. "You miss the Dimitri of old, the one who wasn't a monster. I miss the Felix who loved me."

The words hurt him more certainly and more utterly than any blade or spell. He stares at Dimitri, lips parted, and _feels_ himself go white with rage. "How dare you," he says, so softly he can barely hear himself. "Do you have _any_ idea what it was like to—to lose you? To see the boy I _adored_ turn into a monster? I thought we would be like our fathers, you know. Together, forever. The king and his best friend. Warriors, bonded, like Loog and Kyphon."

The old fantasy sticks bitterly in his throat. "I would have done anything for you." 

The truth is more horrifying than that. 

"I still would, Dimitri! Do you fucking hear me?"

"You didn't have to lose me," Dimitri says, as if it had ever been so simple. "You made the decision to cast me aside." 

Then, suddenly, unbidden: " _Prove it_."

Felix has never been one to respect authority for authority's sake. But he _does_ respect Dimitri; his Dimitri, his friend of old, the companion of his youthful battles. Even now, he realizes. Even if his Dimitri is dead, there are still remains of him in the young man in front of him now. His manner is already that of a king. 

He never cast Dimitri aside. He was _left behind_. Dimitri became something else, and that something was bloodthirsty and feral and _wrong_. How could Felix still love him, after that? 

How can he still love him now? 

He closes his eyes, regret and fury warring in his gut. "Fine," he says, through his teeth. "What do you want me to do, your Highness? Do you want my allegiance? Do you want me to—" his throat goes dry. "To _kneel_ for you?"

Dimitri regards him for a long moment, appraising. "No. I ask for nothing more than honesty from you."

Honesty is worse than allegiance. This honesty is forced loyalty, which is precisely what Felix loathes, and seeks at all costs to avoid. There is nothing he wants more than to sneer, and answer with a sharp jab at Dimitri's princehood, and chivalrous instincts, and possibly his manhood while he's at it. But Dimitri's blue eyes meet his in the semi-darkness, impossibly earnest, and Felix falters. His fingers clench around the balustrade, and he presses his back against it, feeling the cold of the stone seep in through his waistcoat and shirt. 

Dimitri speaks before he can think to stop him. "The legend of the tower— do you wish it were true? Having found me out here?"

"I don't—"

He's breathless. He wishes he could lie. But the truth is torn out of his tongue, and there is nothing he can do. 

"Yes," he whispers.

"Me too." 

Dimitri reaches out to take Felix's hand— only to falter, hesitate, and pull back again, Felix catching it before he can think better of it. The touch is scalding—Dimitri is so _warm_ , a veritable furnace in the icy cold of the Goddess Tower. He stares at his prince (his prince, still, despite everything, despite every year of spite and strife between them—despite destroyed loyalties and broken promises) and grasps his hand tightly, fiercely. 

"Don't," he says. He barely recognizes his own voice, so low it is. "Don't stop."

"If," Dimitri starts slowly, voice as small as Felix feels, "if the goddess were to grant wishes tonight… I would ask her that we might be as happy as we used to be… someday. The world has been cruel, but… for a very long time, Felix, you were my light in that darkness."

"Why?" He can't imagine—can't fool himself into thinking—that Dimitri still loves him as he used to. Felix skirts the line of rudeness with every insult he throws at him, and sometimes steps far over it. For months, he has convinced himself that this was to the good. That Dimitri was nothing more than a shadow of his former self, a boar, an animal unworthy of Felix's kindness or pity—a _thing_ he wouldn't even have the courtesy to put out of his misery if it was dying. 

But now Dimitri looks... sad. 

"Why would you want me, anyway?" he asks, looking away from Dimitri's penetrating gaze. "I'm not the boy I used to be. I don't cry after you anymore. There's nothing left of me for you to—" He can't say it, though, that final word.

"We've both changed," he mutters softly, bowing his head. "Just because you're different… ah, I daresay it would be fairly hypocritical of me to hold it against you."

They're so close like this. Dimitri's head is bowed, his eyes in shadow, but Felix can see the line of his jaw, the furrow of his brow. He's very conscious, all of a sudden, of Dimitri's body, which Felix thinks about at night, when he's alone and can’t help himself. _Boar_ , he thinks; a beast, ruled by his worst instincts. But there is no one to kill here. Instead, they are so close Felix can hear Dimitri's breath, can see the gentle heaving of his chest. 

He wants. Goddess, he _wants_. His own breath is coming a little sharper, a little faster. 

"We both changed," he echoes, in a voice he almost doesn't recognize. "Too much. We can't go back."

"We don't have to go back to be happy, do we? You're still Felix. I'm… still Dimitri. I think. I don't know if you're inclined to agree with me on this, but… I can keep trying to earn your trust."

The only time he ever feels happy, anymore, is when he's wielding a sword. He trains relentlessly, tirelessly. His body—his damn body—does not always thank him for it. 

He whispers: "I didn't recognize you. You were taken away from me, and when I looked for you I found a beast instead. Do you have any idea what that was like, boar? To see my best friend washed in blood, laughing at the man whose chest he'd just torn open? You speak of earning my trust. How am I supposed to believe you? How am I supposed to trust that the person you're now—" he flexes his fingers in Dimitri's— "is _my_ Dimitri?"

"I…" He shakes his head, Dimitri staring down at their joint hands. "There is nothing I can offer you except time, Felix. I have no other proof to hand to you."

But that is false. There is something Dimitri can do, Felix knows—to prove himself. To prove that he's still somewhere in there, still a _person_ and not a beast; still, somehow, Felix's Dimitri, who used to pull back the bedclothes for him to crawl into his bed. He feels his cheeks blaze as he thinks of it, and with a slight jerk of his hand he pulls Dimitri closer. 

"Boar," he says; whispers, really. In the half-second before his brain starts to protest, he fists Dimitri's uniform by the lapels and drags him down to his mouth; bites straight into his lower lip, and sweeps his tongue after it, dragging it flat against the bruise. 

Dimitri pulls back, hesitates, and stares for a heartbeat, wide-eyed. 

Surging forward, fingers finding their way into Felix's hair, Dimitri _kisses him_. The kiss is soft, nothing like Felix's bite— soft and intimate and fiercely vulnerable.

Felix makes an unguarded little sound in the back of his throat. 

This is, apparently, a kiss, and he has lost his mind. 

He isn't certain what in the Saints' names he's doing, and he's dead sure Dimitri doesn't know either. There has been no more gallivanting in the bushes for Dimitri than there has been for Felix. He pulls back for a second, so close to Dimitri's lips that he can feel his breath, can feel the touch of his eyelashes tangling with his own. Then he tightens his grip in his collar and kisses Dimitri again, a little harsher than Dimitri apparently likes it, a little fiercer, pressing their bodies together.

A soft moan rumbles through his throat, and his face heats in immediate response. 

The sound of Dimitri's groan is loud in the frigid air, and it shocks Felix into stillness. Slowly, he pulls back from the kiss, stroking his fingers unconsciously down Dimitri's lapels. He misses his warmth immediately. Cheeks blazing, he presses himself back against the stone, trying to put some distance between them.

"What." His voice is flat. "What the fuck was _that_ about, boar?"

He doesn't miss the signs of arousal on Dimitri's face. He's blushing, too, and his chest is heaving for breath, as though their kiss has taken him so much by surprise that he just stopped breathing entirely. Felix swallows, and makes to look away. 

"You—" Dimitri whispers, head bowed and cheeks red, "you started it."

"That's—" undeniable. Then again, he _bit_ Dimitri. He didn't kiss him. Nuance matters. 

He catches a fierce denial before it can leave his lips. Slowly, he lifts one hand and tilts Dimitri's chin upward. 

"Look at me, boar." He can feel the self-doubt and self-hatred radiating from Dimitri's bowed shoulders; can almost feel the heat of his face. Gingerly, feeling like he's trying to tame some—some wild animal, or one of the monastery cats, he sweeps his thumb across Dimitri's cheekbone. 

"Did you... want that?" he asks, so low that he can barely hear himself. 

"I don't know." Silence settles between them, hard and heavy. "I don't know… what you want, Felix. You tell me you wish the legend about this place was true, and then you... bite me…" 

"Oh." Well, that's clear enough. Dimitri doesn't—he _didn't—_

Felix flinches inwardly. He tries to cross his arms, but Dimitri's bigger, taller body cages him in. "I don't see how that's relevant," he snaps. 

Then he leans up and bites Dimitri's mouth again. He does it with infinitely more care, (which, in Felix's standards, is not much care at all)—sinks his teeth in, and swipes his tongue across Dimitri's parted lips. He's flush against Dimitri, his fingers on Dimitri's chest, risen a little on his toes to get to his mouth. It's profoundly embarrassing. He hates it. 

"Just," he says, against Dimitri's lips. "Fucking kiss me. Or fuck off."

"I— then why did you—"

The question is tossed aside moments later in favor of—kissing him back. 

Dimitri's fingers are in his hair, and Dimitri's mouth moves against his own with a fierceness that staggers him. Dimitri's apparent shyness seems to have melted away. Felix closes his eyes, works his arms around Dimitri's neck, and tries to meet every kiss as furiously and as madly as Dimitri is offering them. 

Before long, though, he's out of breath and running his fingers through the short hair at the back of Dimitri's neck, and he has to break the kiss. He _is_ inexperienced in this, and Dimitri palpably is too—they're both out of their depth. 

He frowns. He doesn't know how to be anything else but rough—and Dimitri deserves a softness Felix can never give him.

" _Felix_ ," he rasps, grasping hold of Felix's thigh as Felix finds himself— _manhandled._ Dimitri lifts him effortlessly, bearing his whole weight with his arms. Their lips meet again, and Felix wraps both of his legs around Dimitri's hips. It isn't long before their kiss grows deeper and slicker and _wetter_ , though, and he loses sight of any discontent in favor of focusing on sucking on Dimitri's tongue. 

His hands are running up and down Dimitri's neck, stroking up into his hair and caressing down over his shoulders. He's so invested in their kiss, it's a long moment before he realizes that Dimitri's hips are flush against his own—and that the long line of heat that presses against his groin is (unmistakably) Dimitri's dick. It's. Big. 

His own hips give an aborted little jerk at the realization, dragging their groins together, and he moans, soft, at the back of his throat. 

Dimitri is the one to break their kiss, breathing hard as he rests his forehead against Felix's.

"Are— is this all right? I'm not sure… what we're doing." 

"I don't care," Felix says, hooking one arm around Dimitri's neck to pull him back in. He tugs on his lower lip in a way that might be called _teasing_ if he wasn't who he is, and licks after it as though to soothe the burn. Dimitri's lips are hot, a little swollen from all their kissing. He tries to shift underneath Dimitri's weight, and again the hard length of Dimitri—goddess—Dimitri's _dick_ frots against his own. 

Felix's head tilts back at the sensation. He drags his fingers through Dimitri's hair, tugs a little. "I don't care," he repeats. "I want this." He wants this more than he ever thought he _would._ Gone are his hesitations, his disturbing belief that Dimitri doesn't want him: this is more than proof that he does, even if Dimitri will never desire more than this. They can have doubts later. 

"I— I don't know how to do this. If I might be allowed to…" He hesitates. "What am I allowed to do, Felix?"

"I'm not exactly experienced either," Felix snaps. "I'm not—ugh— _Sylvain_." He bites his lip, looking at Dimitri's painfully-earnest face in the semi-darkness. He can feel Dimitri's big body pressing him against the wall, holding him up, Dimitri's large hands at his hips. His own cock is pulsing in his pants at the images Dimitri's words bring up. 

He wants— _fuck_ —he wants that dick against his own, fat and slick with spit. He wants to hold it in his hand, see if he can fit the circumference of his palm around it; he imagines not. He feels _empty_ , feels like he sometimes does late at night when he's stuffing fingers inside himself: aching, pained, wanting. 

"I don't—" he stops, hating that he hesitates. He swallows. "I want you. Inside."

A shaky nod. "All right," he whispers, and then again, "a-all right."

Setting him down, Dimitri fumbles with his pants closure, clumsy. Until his hands still, eyes wide. 

"Ah— inside… o-or _inside_." 

" _No_ ," Felix says, narrowing his eyes. "Not _in there_ , you fucking boar. We won't see anything. Do you want to fuck me in the dark, or in the—" He shrugs, meaning: the moonlight. 

"And," he adds, biting his lip, "I want—that." He nods to Dimitri's length, to his hands stilled on the waistband of his trousers. "Ugh. Just fucking do it, will you?"

And because Dimitri is still staring at him, wide-eyed, he makes for Dimitri's pants closure himself, undoing buttons without ceremony and wrapping his hand around Dimitri's—fuck, goddess fuck— _hot, hard, long_ length. Felix bites his lip; the angle is awkward, from this vantage, but he—ah, he can— _stroke…_

He's rewarded in a gasp, in the way Dimitri's forehead falls forward against his shoulder alongside a loud groan. Too loud, almost. 

"F- _Felix_." His hands find Felix's waistband, just as clumsy as before. "May I—?"

"Obviously," says Felix, cheeks heating once more. He gives a convulsive little jerk of his hips, _into_ Dimitri's hand, and tries to focus on touching him, instead of wondering how Dimitri's enormous fucking cock will fit in his ass. He leans forward and kisses Dimitri again, their mouths moving together with an ease he would find embarrassing if he wasn't too far gone to think about such things. 

He keeps his fingers around Dimitri's dick, stroking him in the same slow, tight rhythm he likes for himself—nothing too fast, making it last. The last thing he wants is for Dimitri to come now; although... perhaps Dimitri, being Dimitri, would be able to get it up again fast. He moans at the thought, and squeezes with his thumb on Dimitri's cockhead, wanting to see a reaction. 

And he is— _rewarded_. A stifled gasp, the begging of his hips, desperate for more of Felix's attention in the way they arch into his touch. 

"F-Felix," he whimpers, leaning into him. Distantly, vaguely, he hears his gauntlets hit the stone floor before the lacing of his trousers is undone. 

The touch of Dimitri's fingers on his cock is so unexpected that Felix lets out a startled moan. His skin is bared to the cold air, but that doesn't matter when Dimitri is touching him so carefully, so... gently. Felix has not been gentle with himself in years.

"Goddess—come on," he mutters, escaping Dimitri's renewed kisses against his ear. "Can't you just—do it, you boar? Put it in. Come on."

He wriggles his ass, as though to emphasize his point. 

"Felix," he mutters, pulling back, "that would hurt, wouldn't it?" 

Dimitri doesn't wait for an answer before sinking down onto one knee, Felix feeling his pants tugged down—far enough to let his cock spring free. He watches, breath hitched as Dimitri draws two fingers into his mouth.

"What are you—oh, fuck," Felix says—gasps, the sound is punched out of him—at the sensation of Dimitri's tongue against his cock, the feeling of Dimitri's finger touching him—touching, testing, at his—fuck. For all the nights Felix has spent with four fingers up his ass, he's sure as hell reluctant to put words to it now. He pushes past that particular roadblock and is forced to admit the truth of what Dimitri is about: if he puts that incredible dick inside him just now, he might just tear him apart. 

"Well, it's not like we have lube," he says crossly, resisting the urge to buck his hips back into Dimitri's searching touches and settling for putting one hand on top of Dimitri's head. His prince, on his knees. What a picture. "But you could—turn me around and—"

Dimitri is already on his knees, after all. He breaks off, certain his embarrassment shows all over his face as Dimitri urges him to turn around. 

"Bend over?" he asks, experimentally parting him to start. "I need better access. If you're just a bit more… ah, _open_ …"

The stone is cold against his heated cheek. Felix complies to Dimitri's demand with such embarrassing eagerness he could swear he'll never show his face in public again—never be able to look at him again without thinking of this moment. It is the worst, and the best, possible outcome of their ongoing feud. 

His ongoing feud, he thinks, pressing his forehead against the wall. Dimitri has been nothing but respectful of his wishes, his space, his training sessions... and now, apparently, his bodily autonomy: Dimitri's hands on him are gentle, so careful. His thumbs part his cheeks as Felix leans forward, pressing his ass back deliberately. 

"Get on with it," he snaps, but his voice is shaky and his body is trembling. 

Felix hisses as Dimitri's warm hand closes unexpectedly around his dick—and then swears aloud as Dimitri's tongue breaches him. It isn't something he's ever _thought_ of Dimitri doing to him; it's too dirty for him to imagine that Dimitri would ever be willing to do it to him. But Dimitri seems entirely at ease as he slowly works Felix open, laving his tongue across his opening in long, sweet strokes, and Felix—is losing his mind. 

He's never felt anything like this before. He's never _wanted_ anything like this before. Yet here he is, presenting his ass for Dimitri to eat him out, teeth gritted as Dimitri strokes him slowly... he drops his hand to Dimitri's, tightens his grip for him, shows him how to do it. He is increasingly aware that, should Dimitri not stop before too long, he will come before they can do anything... else.

"Ah, fuck," he swears again, dropping his forehead against the blessedly cool stone of the wall. "Fuck. Dimi—bo—ah!" He's panting, breathing harshly, and his legs are beginning to tremble underneath his weight. He's so close. He's so fucking—

"Felix," Dimitri whispers, gently biting into the skin of his ass.

It makes him shudder, Felix swearing under his breath as he pushes Dimitri ungently away before stepping out of his pants, one foot after the other. After a horrible moment when he almost gets tangled—and has to hold himself on Dimitri's offered shoulder for balance—he kicks off both of his boots and tugs Dimitri up to his level. 

Teeth clenched, he says, "I'm—close. So just. Just do it, will you—" and slides one bare foot up Dimitri's calf, hooking his leg around the back of his knee. He's blushing so brightly he's certain it can be seen in the dark. 

"Just," he repeats. "Put it in me. Already."

Dimitri lifts him up with ease, Felix feeling him at his entrance, large and imposing.

"Tell me if it hurts, and I'll stop," he whispers, glancing back toward the stairwell as if to make sure they're still alone before leaning in to steal another kiss from him. It's sweet—and distracts him just long enough that he doesn't hiss when Dimitri pushes inside of him. 

Felix has had... practice. With his fingers. He knows, theoretically, how to take a dick. What he hasn't predicted is the sheer _size_ of the thing—how fucking big Dimitri is, even with all his preparation, even after he put his tongue—

Felix hisses and shifts his hips, exhaling, a long breath, as Dimitri pushes in and in and _in,_ and then keeps going, impossibly.

"Ah, fuck," he gasps, jerking his head back and hitting the stone wall. "How much more of you is there even to—ngggggh." Dimitri keeps proving him wrong. Or right. Or whatever. 

At last, at last Dimitri's groin comes to rest against his ass, and Felix swallows. He feels full. Filled. To the brim. 

It's. Not uncomfortable. 

"Apologies," Dimitri mutters, pressing a kiss just under his ear. "If I need to pull out—" 

"No," Felix gasps, clutching at him. He just needs a moment or two to—ah, adjust. Dimitri really is ridiculously big, and with every breath he takes, every shift of his hips, he can feel him growing... fuller. Which is absurd. There is no way he can get any bigger. 

He ducks his head to meet Dimitri's mouth again, a kiss that's so oddly sweet it leaves him panting. "Just move," he manages to say, tilting his head against Dimitri's. He sort of pets Dimitri's hair, completely overcome with a longing he hasn't allowed himself to acknowledge in years.

Only now, with Dimitri in him, with Felix's legs tight around his waist, can he allow himself to admit how much he's _wanted_ him. 

"Come on," Felix murmurs, feeling Dimitri move within him, gaining speed slowly.

Dimitri complies readily in response to his request: bracing Felix against the wall, he pushes into him, his hips coming home with each and every thrust as Dimitri groans. 

"T-touch yourself," he gasps, breath hot against Felix's neck.

The command startles him, and he clenches down automatically around Dimitri's cock before dropping his hand between their bodies. The angle is a little awkward, but he manages to curl his fingers around his cock. He's so sensitive by now that that simple friction makes him moan aloud. 

"D-Dimitri," he says, and the name is not as unfamiliar on his lips as it was earlier this evening. "Harder, boar, come on. Is that—is that all you've got, or are you going to make me really _feel it_?"

Dimitri growls— loud and low.

A yelp tears itself from Felix's throat as he's manhandled, Dimitri lifting his leg by his calf over his shoulder. He barely registers their change in position before Dimitri thrusts back into him, a hard shove that makes him cry out. He can feel Dimitri everywhere now, and he's stroking himself harder, faster, tighter, just the way he likes it, except he's never liked it _this much_ —

"Like that?" Dimitri grunts, groaning once more.

His hands on his ass and his waist are steady and sure, and he holds up Felix with ease. The Blaiddyd bloodline, the Blaiddyd strength... the knowledge that he's being fucked by _Dimitri,_ of all people, makes tears sting at his eyes. 

"F-fuck," he gasps, panting, resting his forehead against Dimitri's. "Boar, I'm going to—"

" _Please_ ," Dimitri whispers. An errant hand curls around his cheek, soft and warm. "Please," he says again.

Felix doesn't have time to breathe before Dimitri's plea takes him over the edge. He comes and he comes hard, clenching down Dimitri's cock so tightly that he _feels_ him throb in response. He's so far gone it barely registers. The orgasm tears through his body, and the foot that is tucked over Dimitri's shoulder curls in against his neck, his legs trembling. He should be thankful he isn't standing up, or bending over: he would crumple to the floor, with no more strength to keep him upright. 

By the time the wave of pleasure recedes a little, he is panting more harshly than ever before, and his arms are tight around Dimitri. Dimitri's dick is still hard, tucked inside him, pulsing. 

"I— I love you, Felix."

His leg muscles are aching, and Felix grimaces for a second before he registers what Dimitri has just done—and said. He can feel him pulsing inside. He's still trembling. And Dimitri thinks this is the time to stage a _love confession_? 

"I," he says, intelligently, and then stops. 

It has never been in question that he loves Dimitri. Even when he loathed the beast, even after Duscur—his feelings for his prince have always been a terrifying quagmire of adoration and hatred. But there is a wide gap between knowing that he would lay down his life for Dimitri and telling him, to his face, that...

"I," he repeats, more slowly, drawing his hands down and around Dimitri's neck, "wouldn't have let you fuck me otherwise, boar, don't fool yourself."

He can't quite look him in the eye, though. 

It doesn't seem to matter much—instead of answering in words, he does so in kisses, stealing one to start and then another. And another. 

He pulls out of him with a shudder— _too soon_ —before gently easing Felix back onto his legs. "You— you can lean on me. While you dress yourself again," he mutters.

Felix swallows down a sharp retort, choosing instead to obey Dimitri's soft suggestion and retrieve his pants, forcing his numb legs into them one foot after the other. Dimitri's come is trickling down his thigh, which is not comfortable, but is also oddly pleasing. He carries the reminder that he had Dimitri in him. He'll wash himself later. 

By the time he's put himself back together, sliding buttons into their holes and fastening buckles, he glances up at Dimitri again. "Boar," he says, running his hand up Dimitri's shoulder to cup his jaw. "Boar," he repeats, more gently this time, and tugs him down for a kiss. 

A softer kiss, this time, the kind Felix didn't know he was capable of. He runs his tongue along the seam of Dimitri's lips and closes his eyes, sighing a little. 

The kiss is answered quickly, eagerly, Dimitri's fingers finding their way into Felix's hair as he parts his lips against Felix's, allowing him entrance. 

It ends too soon. Dimitri seems to have the same idea, pulling back with a rueful sigh and a glance toward the stairwell.

"I suppose we ought to return." He hesitates. "I… was wondering if you might be willing to share just one dance with me."

Felix stares at him, his imminent refusal on his tongue. Dancing with the boar? In public? In front of everyone else? 

But Dimitri's eyes are pleading, and his hands on Felix's waist and shoulder are gentle. Felix can't look at him for very long. He doesn't doubt Dimitri's love, either—not when it's shining out of him like a small sun. 

"... one dance," he mutters. "Just one. Boar."

Dimitri's eyes light up in an instant, his face breaking out in a wide smile. 

"Thank you, Felix," he whispers, and takes his hand in his.


End file.
